Remember to Love

By Gery Ohanian

KARO SEROVIAN, ALONG WITH HIS MOTHER AND FATHER, MIGRATE TO AMERICA FROM ARMENIA IN SEARCH OF THE AMERICAN DREAM. BUT SOMEHOW KARO FINDS HIMSELF ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE LAW WHILE HE CONSTANTLY STRUGGLS WITH HIS DESIRE TO DO WHAT IS RIGHT, BUT OFTENTIMES FALLING SHORT OF HIS INTENDED GOAL.

MEET KYRA, KAROS YOUNGER SISTER WHO IDOLIZES KARO, BUT AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS WITH FAMILIES AND THE PASSAGE OF TIME, THEY FIND THEMSELVES AT ODDS WITH EACH OTHER AND HOW THEYVE CHOSEN TO LIVE THEIR LIVES. WILL KARO EVER FIND HIS PURPOSE IN LIFE?

WILL KYRA EVER FIND IT IN HER HEART TO FORGIVE KARO HIS FAILINGS?

COME ALONG ON THIS JOURNEY OF LOVE, FRIENDSHIP, TRAGEDY AND THE HOPE OF REDEMPTION AS THE SEROVIAN SAGA UNFOLDS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462864843

Book preview

PROLOGUE

If I’m honest with myself (and with whomever might be reading this), I guess I’d have to say that as far as stories go, this one isn’t that bad (if I do say so myself). Like a fine bottle of wine or a movie review, I’d give it 4 out of 5 stars. But we’ll just set that aside for now, and at the end, judge for yourself. Though I must say that if someone were to have told me back when I was just a kid that this was how my life was going to end up, I would’ve told them that they were crazy.

Well, looking back; now that I’m older and wiser (at least that’s what I try to make myself believe; that I’m wiser, not older), I’d like to think that I could’ve done things a little differently. You know how when you get to an intersection while you’re driving, and you’re undecided as to which way to turn, wondering if you should turn right or left, but never imagining that one or the other is going to be a pivotal point in your life? I mean, come on, it’s only a turn, right? So who knew?

Continuing with that theory, does that deciding turn (whichever you took?) go for the rest of our lives? What I mean is, if we choose one and it becomes a wrong/bad choice, do we keep going through the rest of our lives making the wrong turns? Does it just become like a domino effect? I think for some of us it does. It’s the fortunate ones, that by luck, or divine intervention (if you believe), get back on track with one right choice, of turning right instead of left, or vice versa.

And for some of you right now who are thinking,Oh he’s just making excuses, well, you may be right. But let me ask you a question. How are things in your life? Married? How’s that working out? Do you like your job? Are you truly happy with all of the choices you’ve made in your life? You see what I’m getting’ at? When the spotlight is focused on our own individual lives, that’s when we start to back pedal. It reminds me of that song. I can’t say that I remember who it’s by, but it goes something like this; We’re only humans after all. But hey, don’t worry. It’s not like I’m judging you or anything.

You know how when you walk into a dark room, the first thing you think to do is to turn on a light so that you’ll be able to see? Well, this was kinda like that. I just wanted to shed some light on this, so no one would think that all I was doing is giving out excuses. And I know that that’s no explanation, it’s just that was how it all went down.

Okay, now we’re coming to the meat of the matter, so to speak. Can any of us pin-point that first wrong turn? Can you?

I’d like to think that I could, but I guess more than anything that that would be wishful thinking on my part. So let’s just cut to the chase and let me say that if I’m going to be honest (and there would be no point otherwise), I would have to say, that all in all, I’ve pretty much fucked-up my life.

Okay, not all of it, and certainly not to a point that it can’t be repaired, but that’s a task that’s yet to be undertaken. It’s a hard and arduous climb up. But when one is already at the bottom, I guess UP is the only button left on the elevator, so to speak.

You know what they say, Wish small, and all you get are small wishes, but, Wish BIG and the sky’s the limit! Or some other nonsensical shit like that.

Anyway, that elevator I was just talking about? You know how on some of them there’s a P button? Well, that’s the Penthouse. You know, the very top, right? But we all know that you just can’t push that button, you first need a key. So, I’m gonna to look inside my pocket and see if I can’t somehow find that damn key, and while I’m lookin’, you just sit back, relax, and see if you can dig where I’m comin’ from.

If you were a betting man (and who knows, you just might be), what do you think the odds are that I’ll be able to find that key? Care to place a bet?

Oh man! Sorry about that. I almost forgot! Believe me when I tell you I wasn’t trying to be rude. Let me introduce myself. My name is Karo Serovian. And this is my story.

PART I

CHAPTER 1

Sometimes memories should just mind their own damn business and not be allowed to creep up on you whenever they want to. We try to control them, tell them if and when we want their input, but unfortunately, some memories, well, they demand attention.

That’s how it was for me.

I really didn’t have much time for a leisurely stroll down memory lane, but this one wasn’t going to let itself be denied. I’m coming in whether you’re ready for me or not, it said. So what was I gonna do? You guessed it! I opened the door to see who wanted a quick peek into the past, and I ended up at a time in my life that was innocent, care-free, and full of so many possibilities. I mean, this memory said we were going waaaaaaay back, back to 1971, and I was just a 6-year-old kid, ready to start his first day of school.

The first day of school for any child is always a scary thing, filled with so many unknowns; will the other kids like me? Will they make fun of me? And all the other horrors that we’ve convinced ourselves are awaiting us as soon as Mom and Dad say good-bye and we’re on our own.

And no need to shed any tears for me, but, to add to the first day jitters, I had an added bonus for my first day of school. I didn’t speak a word of English. You see, I was born in Armenia in 1965, and my parents and I had just arrived to the good-ole U.S. of A on December 18, 1970.

So as it is, I’m just learning my own language at home from my family, now my mom and dad are throwing me to the wolves by dropping me off at this strange place—all alone—to get an education.

Now on the bright side, we’d come to California (Hollywood, to be precise), and even though school starts in September—maybe in another state or in another country—the cold weather might have already begun, this was sunny, Southern California baby! So yeah, it was warm, and it was only 7:45 in the morning.

The sun is looking beautiful, the sky is a gorgeous shade of blue (it wasn’t until later that I learned that some of what I was looking at was the L.A. smog), with just a tiny breeze, all in all, a day of promises of good things to come.

The thing I noticed first was, that I wasn’t the only frightened kid who was all alone and looking like they would rather take some of the worst tasting medicine their mom had ever given them on any given day, than be here right now.

That morning, before leaving the house, Mom had asked me, Karo, do you want me to take you to your first class? I told her that that would just let everyone know that I was a scared little boy, so thanks, but no thanks! My dad said, Son, you’re a big boy, you can do this, right? Now, when your dad calls you a big boy at 6-years-old, you can’t let him down, can you? So even though I was totally petrified (I didn’t know that word at 6, but it’s what I was, nonetheless), I couldn’t let my dad think I wasn’t his big boy could I? So there I was.

As I’m standing there, it suddenly occurs to me that I’d forgotten the lunch that my mom had made for me, and as I turned around, wouldn’t you know it. There’s my mom, standing across the street by the car with my dad, her with my lunch in her hand, the both of them staring at me. I guess Mom and Dad were a little nervous themselves and, like me, they were trying to be brave. As I ran back towards them, I saw the look of concern on my mom’s face, so before she could say anything that’s going to embarrass me, I stopped her by saying, Don’t worry, I’m not running away from school. I’m just coming to get my lunch. My mom looks at me, hands me the bag she was holding, and before I can get back across the street and make my way to school, my dad stops me by my shoulders, turns me towards him and says, Now you be good, and remember, you’re a Serovian, and you can do anything, okay?

As I look at my dad, standing there with my mom, both of them with the endless hope that only a parent can have for a child, I think of how lucky I am to be loved by these two people, of whom I’m lucky enough to call Mom and Dad.

I answer him with the only thing I know (even at that age) is the right thing to say, Yes Dad, I’ll do well and make you proud. I’ll try and do better than the other kids, even though I don’t speak any English, but, in time, everyone will know who Karo Serovian is. And seeing my dad’s face light up, as he pulls my mom closer to him, I know it’s what he wanted to hear. Dad bent down until we were eye to eye, and in one of the rare occasions shown by my father, he kisses me and says, I’m always proud of you, Karo, you are my son, I will love you always no matter what.

Okay, now I really had to get out of here, before I started to cry like a little baby after trying so hard to show them that I was a big boy. I looked up and, trying hard not to cry I said, Baba (that’s Dad in Armenian), I’ll be okay, but I have to go before I end up being late on my first day of school.

One of the nice things about going to Santa Monica Elementary School (that’s where I went), was that my Nene (that’s grandmother in Armenian) lived right across the street, so after school I would go there and eat; watch TV, or whatever, until my mom and dad got off of work and picked me up. Then we’d drive home, as a family.

My grandmother and grandfather had come to the United States a year before us, in 1969, along with their four children. Well, actually, they had five, the fifth being my mom. But as my mom was the only one that was married with her own family, she stayed with her husband and child until we were able-and could afford to—leave and come to America, too. Sorry, my mind wondered for a minute. I’ll get back to the rest of my clan later, but for now, let’s me get back to my first day jitters.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, I was leaving before the water works started.

Well, I ran back across the street (looking both ways for traffic, of course), and just for a split second I took my eyes off of where I was going, looking back towards my parents and waving good-bye, and that’s when it happened!

I didn’t mean to, I just wasn’t looking. I was only 6, and not too big, either, but still a boy. You should have seen the little thing that I ran into! I put my lunch down, bent down to help her up and saw that she’d started to cry, but even through those big tears I could tell that she was trying to say something. My big problem was that as much as I would’ve liked to have told her how sorry I was, and I was, I couldn’t!

And while she was still crying, (and obviously trying to tell me something), she turned her head and, looking straight at me, little by little, her crying began to subside, and the next thing I knew she started to laugh!

Here I was thinking that there is no way I’ll ever be able to explain to her how sorry I was for having knocked her to the ground and that I would do anything to help her in any way I could. And what is she doing? She’s laughing! I mean, I’m glad she stopped crying, but what’s so funny?

As I helped her up, I shrug my shoulders as if to say, Whatcha gonna do, shit happens, right? Because, well, what could I do? But that only got her laughing harder! And the sound that her laugh is making! It’s a soft, but commanding laugh. One you would want to listen to all the time.

You know what people say about laughter being contagious? Well, it was for Anna Marie Smith (that’s her name by the way, which I didn’t find out until later, along with what she was saying between her sobs and her laughing fit) and I. It wasn’t something I would have done on my own, but I figured if this pretty little girl could look at me (the one who’d knocked her down) and laugh, then it was alright for me to laugh along with her.

So I did.

It seemed like forever until our giggling fit finally stopped, but in that little moment of time, between my knocking her down and our laughter finally fading away was the moment that our friendship was sealed, by that one incident, and has lasted close to thirty years.

I don’t want to sound as if I’m tooting my own horn (and God knows that no one else is gonna toot it), but I’ve always had this innate ability to read people, even at that young age. I guess I’m what you would call a people person.

Is it something that I was just born with? Well, duuuuh! Obviously!

Am I ever wrong? Of course I am. But, as I’ve watched my life unfold day by day and year by year, I would have to say that I’ve always had a way about me. Those that get to know me-even in just a short period of time—come to trust me; my judgment, my integrity, and my resolve.

And for those who choose to stick around a little longer, well, these come to believe in my loyalty and, my unwavering friendship. If you are Karo’s friend, you can always trust in that friendship and know that there is nothing that can’t be asked of him that he would say no to. And whenever you need him, he’ll be there.

TOOOOOOT-TOOOT!!!

Well, I did warn you.

Anyway, I only mention this to say that sometimes that which we see in ourselves, that rare gift to read people, others might have, too! And I truly believe that Anna Marie Smith had/has that same gift.

You see, when she looked at me, I think what she saw was exactly what was in front of her. A scared little boy who obviously didn’t speak any English, who was embarrassed of having knocked down a little girl, but, not only that, but that same little girl is laughing at him, and he has no idea why.

Hey, are you okay? Anna Marie said as she bent down, trying to pick up her school books, and a little note book (I think it wasn’t until about two years later that I found out that it wasn’t a note book, but rather, her diary), while trying to brush off some of the dust that had gotten on her cute, peach colored dress. Well, are you going to be a gentleman and help me pick up my books? Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Anna Marie Smith. What’s yours?

Now, you’ve got to understand, I know that she’s talking to me, but what she’s saying is beyond me. I’m lost! All I know how to say is, Hi, me Karo. She looks at me and smiles, and when someone that cute smiles at you, you can’t help but to smile back.

She tilted her head to one side, one eyebrow arched, and with this little mischievous grin on her face, she says, Your name is Karo? That’s a funny name, but I like it. So, like I said, I’m Anna Marie Smith, nice to meet you, and you have no idea what I just said, do you? Well, it looks like you could use a friend and, as long as you promise not to be mean to me, or knock me down anymore, I’ll be your friend, okay?

Well, I see her mouth moving again, so I know that she’s still talking to me, but all I know for sure is, that at the end of what she said, she smiled and put out her hand. Some things cross international borders, and friendship is one of them. So, no matter where you are, or how old you are, a hand shake is a sign of friendship. So I smiled, took her hand, and shook it. And while this little scene that had just played came to its conclusion, I had totally forgotten about my mom and dad who were still standing across the street.

I didn’t want my new friend to know that we had been watched by my mom and dad this whole time, so I just turned my head a little to my left, and with my left hand (my right was busy holding Anna Marie’s hand), I waived ’bye to my folks and shooed them away.

Not a bad start to a first day of school, wouldn’t you agree?

CHAPTER 2

The sky is so clear, and the color is like a picture perfect postcard, the kind that you usually purchase at any gift shop. Towards the east, where the sun is lazily hanging, is this one, big, round, fat cloud, but since there’s hardly any breeze to speak of, it’s just sitting there amongst all this beautiful blue sky. I’m sure that there are many places on this planet we call Earth that covers vast areas of beauty, but for me, southern California has always had a special place in my heart.

If you happen to be fortunate enough to live here, in southern California, then you know that everything that anyone could ever want to do is within two hours drive, no matter where you might live. And that was true for me.

I grew up in Hollywood, so everything was within two hours, or less. From my house we could be at any one of about six beaches within thirty minutes to an hour, depending on what beach you chose to go to. If you wanted a desert setting, you had your choice of the Antelope Valley, Palm Desert, or the San Bernardino area to choose from. Skiing? Sure, why not! We’ve got that, too. And let’s be honest. How many places do you know where on the same day, and within an hour’s drive, you could go from getting a nice tan at the beach to skiing down a mountain with some fresh powder? Anyway, that’s how I see it. So I’ll stick to sunny, southern California, anytime!

In the fall, September 1973 to be exact, on a clear, warm, sunny day, I couldn’t help but to look up at the sky as a slight breeze went from east to west, as my team was up at bat.

The guy standing at home plate getting ready for his pitch is one of my closest friends at school. As he’s hunched over staring at the pitcher, he’s got this look of intense concentration on his face, just waiting for the right pitch.

We’re on our lunch break; my team is down 4-2, with 2 outs, a runner on second, 1 ball and 2 strikes, and times running out.

Steve Goldblat (he’s my friend, the one at bat), he’s kind of a loner at school, even so, he and I have become pretty good friends and even though I didn’t realize it then, we were sort of the outsiders. Maybe because we were foreigners (Steve was Jewish), who knows for sure. But one thing was for sure. Steve and I saw a kindred spirit in each other. And it’s funny, because Steve and I were total opposites! He’s quiet and shy, and there are many things that I could be called, but quiet and shy? No, I don’t think so! Even in spite or that, we became friends.

One of the things that we do have in common is, that we’re both straight A students. We’re like the dynamic duo; peanut butter and jelly. Yin and Yang even. Well, you get the picture.

Hey Steve, I said, hit it towards the third baseman, he’s not fast enough, and his arm isn’t strong enough to throw it back, even if he can get to it in time. Steve glanced in my direction and winked. Okay Karo, Steve said, you’re probably right. By now, most of our team is on their feet, chanting, Here batter—batter, here batter—batter!

The guy pitching (Peter Nichols), he’s pretty good. Peter looked behind him, to the runner on second and, as he turns his head back, he goes straight into his pitch. We’re playing softball, so it’s underhand, but it’s still a fast pitch.

Steve sees it, steps into the pitch, and hits it solid! It’s a line drive towards third, and it’s a good ball. Steve drops the bat and starts running towards first. The person on second ( her name is Julie), you can tell that she’s not sure if it was good, or a foul ball, so she hesitates, until someone screams out, HEYYYY JUULLIIEE, RUUUNNN!!!

Julie comes to life just then and looks up in time to see our whole team yelling at her to run. She finally comes to and takes off. The ball goes all the way to the fence, the guy at left field runs, catches up to the ball, grabs it, turns, and throws it as hard as he can to the third baseman.

Julie is already on her way towards home plate, while Steve is rounding second, headed to third, just as the third baseman is catching the ball from the left fielder off of a bounce.

Go Steve, go, I yell as loud as I can, you can make it! Julie had already made it to home plate, just as Steve was passing third. Everyone is thinking the same thing: If Steve makes it the score will be 4-4. A tie is better than a loss. The third baseman sees Steve pass him on his way towards home plate. He cocks his arm back, and makes a nice throw to the catcher, who’s waiting for it. Everyone is on their feet now, waiting to see if Steve can make it to tie the game.

Slide, Steve, I yell at him. This is going to be close.

Steve goes into his slide, the ball comes over his head and, as the catcher stands, getting ready for the ball, Steve gets there.

Ted Donner (he’s the catcher) catches the ball, tags Steve, and yells, We win! We win! You’re out, Steve! But the rest of my team is yelling, NOOO WAAYY! HE’S SAFE!

Now, this is one of those situations that could get ugly. On one hand, one side sees it as out (of course). And needless to say, the other side sees it as safe (what else!).

Come on, Steve, Ted Donner said, you know you were out.

Yeah right, Steve replies. You wish!

He was O-U-T, OUT! they all yelled.

You guys are such liars, Julie said. Why do you always have to be such sore losers? Now our team is all backing up Julie, yelling at the other side, telling them how much of a sore loser they all are, when out of nowhere I hear someone say, Hey, why don’t we just ask Karo? He’ll be fair. I look around, searching for the person who had just thrown me to the lions, and wouldn’t you know it! It was Anna Marie, my best friend! Go ahead, Karo, Anna Marie said, tell them. Was Steve safe, or O-U-T, out, like they said?

You know, the thing of it is, that I’m just like any other eight-year-old kid. I want to win just as much as they do, if not more! No, that’s not right. I don’t just want to win, I like to win. But, when someone puts their neck on the line and states as fact that you’ll be fair and, that someone just happens to be the sweetest, kindest girl in school (not to mention your best friend), it leaves you with only one option.

Hey Steve, sorry, but you were out. That’s O-U-T, OUT! Anna Marie just looks at everyone and says, See, I told you that Karo would be fair. That’s why he’ll always be my best friend, no matter what.

I can tell that Steve didn’t like the call one bit, because as we were walking away from the baseball field towards the end of the school grounds—facing Santa Monica Blvd., I can see that he’s getting ready to say something, it’s just that he hasn’t quite figured out how to say it, yet. After all, I am his best friend, and he doesn’t want to say or do anything to ruin or endanger that friendship.

The lunch bell is about to ring and there’s something I still need to do, and I’m getting short on time. I stopped, looked at Steve, and said, Go ahead, Steve, ask me. Why did I say you were out, right? I guess that he kind of knew that I knew what he was thinking, so he laughs as he looks at me and says, "Okay Karo, why did you say that I was out? You know that everyone likes you, so if you would’ve just said that I was safe, we would’ve all believed you. So tell me. Why? Was it because of what Anna Marie said?"

I didn’t have to think twice as to what my answer would be. There was only one thing to say. Steve, you were out, that’s the truth. And if I’d said that you were safe, that would make me a liar. And besides, it just wouldn’t have been fair, would it? Let me ask you something. You and I are friends, right? Could you be a friend to someone who would lie about a stupid softball game? I couldn’t. So I hope we’re still friends, but more importantly, I hope you understand and that you’re not mad at me. I guess I’d said it right. But who really ever knows? All I know is that friendship is something that I’ve always valued. And I valued his.

You’re right as usual, Karo, Steve said. And no, I’m not mad at you. And by the way, why are we at the corner of the school? The bell is going to ring in a minute and we’re going the wrong way. And anyway, the game wasn’t over yet. We were only down by one point. So why’d you quit?

I didn’t like the fact that he said that I’d quit, but I’d let that slide, for now. I was running out of time. Listen Steve, I don’t have a lot of time to explain, so just go back to the game and I’ll see you back in class. And if I’m late, and Ms. Raines asks you where I am, tell her you don’t know, okay? Steve looks lost, but at least he knows better than to ask any further questions.

Okay Karo, just be careful. Careful, what else would I be? SHEESH!!!

*     *     *

Being intuitive throughout my whole life (at least as far back as I can recall), it’s like a second skin; it’s just there, a part of me. I don’t argue with it, and I try not to allow myself to second guess it. I just accept it.

I remember on several occasions, back in Armenia, I was probably about three or four-years-old, and my aunt Ana (that’s my dad’s youngest sister, they’re six in all, just like the Brady Bunch, three boys and three girls, but from the same Mom and Dad, unlike the Brady Bunch) used to come to our house to visit, along with my three cousins, my dad would always remind me to be nice to them and share my toys with them because, we were fortunate to have so much in a country where so many struggle to survive and most live without the basics.

At first, these were just words that a father would admonish his son with, but, in time, I came to understand what my dad meant by we were fortunate with every visit from friends and family that lived without.

Take potatoes for instance. You wouldn’t think that by having them, that your family was fortunate, would you? But not knowing the depth of poverty in a country as beautiful as Armenia and, being only three or four-years-old, these are things that can be (and usually are) overlooked. But, when you’re looking at your cousins-and all three of them are older than you—whose eyes have gotten so big that they’re about to pop out of their sockets, and all this from something as simple as potatoes, it’s only then that you view that potato with new perspective.

I never realized (until coming to America) that getting a tangerine for Christmas was truly a gift. I just assumed that it’s what all little boys and girls got from Santa Claus on Christmas. I never thought that the Big Red Fire Truck that I had gotten on my birthday was a gift beyond my cousins and/or friends wildest dreams. When you’re young, you just assume that all kids get birthday presents (or Christmas presents) that are as nice as the ones that your mom and dad gave you, don’t you? I know I did.

At least I did, up until I realized (with each visit by my cousins) that my situation was the exception, not the rule. I was sooooo lucky! Or as my dad would say, we were fortunate.

And it was this thought that popped into my head, just as the lunch bell proceeded to ring, signaling the end of lunch. Oh well, now I’d be late for sure. But once I get a thought, I just can’t seem to turn it off.

You ever get that way? Me too!

Santa Monica Elementary School is located between Van Ness and Ridgewood, on Santa Monica (ergo the name, right?). At the end of the schools property; bordered by twelve foot high fencing, are a couple of local businesses. There are four of them to be exact.

You have Size Is Everything, they sell suits, and also do minor alterations (I learned that from my dad, he’s a tailor). There’s Suds & Soap, which is a laundry mat, obviously! There’s Orange Julius, which is a place that I frequent, being as how they sell hot dogs, hamburgers, and French fries. But the thing they’re really famous for is, the Orange Bang! It’s a tasty concoction of juices and milk. I think?

And then there’s the Mom and Pop liquor store, called Abdu’s Liquor, owned by an elderly Arabic couple (and fortunately for me they spoke Armenian), which was where I was headed. And getting here isn’t as easy as it sounds. You remember that twelve foot high fence? Need I say more?

Anyway, as I walked in the store, I noticed that Mrs. Abdu was at the cash register, while Mr. Abdu was in the middle of restocking some of the empty shelves.

Hi Mrs. Abdu, hi Mr. Abdu, how is business? I asked. Mrs. Abdu looked at me from over the counter, while Mr. Abdu got up from where he was crouching, putting away some kidney beans on the lower shelves. Mr. Abdu looked up at me, put his hands behind him, and as he started to rise, I heard some weird popping noises.

Hi Karo, what you do here? Mr. Abdu asked. I just love his English. He briefly glanced over my head at his wife and, when he looked back in my direction, he looked totally perplexed. I’d seen that look before. That was the same look that my mom and dad would get when I would ask them to help me with my home work. Sad, I know, but oh so true. You no go school today, Karo? I think you should be school, no? Mr. Abdu asked me.

Yes, Karo, Mrs. Abdu also asked, no school for you today?

Now you’ve got to understand, these are kind and caring people, who happen to know my grandparents, so it’s not as if I either can, or wish, to lie to them.

Yes Mr. Abdu, I replied, I do have school today. I just came over to buy some stuff real quick, then I’m going right back to class before I’m late. We just had lunch, and the bell already rang, so I really need to hurry, okay? So would it be okay if I buy some candy? I can tell by the look that he’s giving me that I might have to answer some more questions before I leave. Like, do my grandparents know about my leaving school, at lunch, in order to come here to buy some candy?

Before he even gets a chance to ask me his first (but I’m sure not his last) question, I stop him with that sad eyed, woeful puppy look and hope for the best.

And you know what? It worked! Mr. Abdu looked over at his wife, looked back at me, and between those two glances I could have sworn that I saw him wink when he was looking at his wife. I mean I could be wrong, but I really think he did.

He bent back down (to the sounds of more popping), got eye level with me and says, Okay Karo, you promise you go back school, I believe you. I no tell your nene or dede (which is grandmother and grandfather in Armenian), but you no lie me, okay?

Well, I guess the sad puppy worked, but I don’t think it was as if I was getting over on him. It was more like this was his way of letting me know that he knew, but as long as I was being honest with him, that he’d keep my secret. I was thinking that I would come with a smart retort, but the best that I could manage was this. Thank you Mr. Abdu. I know, pretty lame, huh?

Now that that’s over, I turned my attention towards a serious, pressing matter of worldly debate. Should I buy Now & Laters, or Bubblelitious? Or maybe even some Toffee Taffy? It’s decisions like these that the fate of the world hangs. What? These don’t seem like important issues to you? Yeah, well, to me, an 8-year-old kid, in a store filled with candy (one might even call it Heaven?), what did you think I would be debating? Who’s going to be the next president? What’s the price of gold?

Por favor, as my friend Juan would say. Or have you forgotten what it was like to be a kid? I know I haven’t, thank you very much! The other thing I hadn’t realized—back in 1973—was how much $5 could buy. And it’s not as if I wasn’t fully aware of the fact that I was totally spoiled (mostly by my dad, but Mom did her share of spoiling, too), but it was sorta like a bee stinging. Knowing that when it does, it will die, but it’ll still sting you.

It’s a bee! It is what it is! And I was a kid. So I knew that I was spoiled, but it’s who I am. Right?

Well, my having $5 (and this wasn’t weekly, this was daily) was like that. It just was. Yet I never allowed the money, or the knowledge that I would be getting another $5 tomorrow to rule me, or my attitude towards others.

After all, we were fortunate.

As I stood there (more like transfixed in total awe) in front of the candy counter, I was no closer to finding the answer to one of life’s more puzzling questions.

Now & Later? Bubblelicious? Or Taffy? Now & Later? Bubblelicious? Or Taffy?

Decisions, decisions! What to do, what to do.

Mr. Abdu, the Now & Later, still 20 cents, right? I asked. Mr. Abdu nodded yes. Okay. Let me get ten of those. And if the Taffy is the same price, I’ll take ten of those, too. Please? Mrs. Abdu listened to my requests, looked at Mr. Abdu, looked back at me, and shrugged her shoulders as she started putting my order into a bag.

Karo, what you do with so much candy? It’s not good to eat so much sweet, Mrs. Abdu informed me.

Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m only a kid, and to all us kids, everyone over fifty looks about the same, but Mrs. Abdu really does look like my nene, who I love, so it’s hard to just ignore her concern. So I smile and say, Thank you, Mrs. Abdu, but I want you to know that all of that isn’t just for me. I was trying as hard as I could not to sound rude with my next statement, but I really had to hurry. It was just a matter of time before my teacher started to worry about me. How much is that, Mrs. Abdu? I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too rude.

She punched a couple of keys on the cash register, then looked back at me and said, It $4, plus tax, but for you Karo, no tax. I reached into my pants pocket, pulled out the fiver and handed it to her. As she looks at the five dollar bill I just handed her, I’m sure the thought that’s going through her head is, where did a kid get this much money, and why is he being allowed to waste it on such a silly thing like candy. So before she has a chance to voice these thoughts, or any like them, I cut in and ask her, Mrs. Abdu? Could you please have a bag of this same candy ready for me at this same time on all the school days? I look at Mrs. Abdu, Mrs. Abdu looked at Mr. Abdu, and as I turned to see what he would say, he gave a small nod to his wife and just like that, the deal was done! Thank ya. Thank ya very much, I said to Mr. Abdu and his wife. But they weren’t laughing. Not even a smile! Oh well, I guess they’re not big fans of Elvis. Can’t win ’em all.

I grabbed my bag, put my change in my pocket, waved good-bye, and ran out the door. I was hoping that I would be able to still pull this off without getting any detention. But it’s gonna be close.

It was seven years later—in the summer of 1980—that Mr. Abdu was shot and killed, while protecting his wife from a man who was trying to rob their store to feed his heroin habit.

That man killed Mr. Abdu for $52.

Three months after Mr. Abdu’s death, Mrs. Abdu sold the store that she and her husband had worked so hard to build—for a chance at the American dream—to make it something that they could be proud of that would provide for them in their waning years, and went back to her homeland. I guess she was just too lonely.

Up until then, I didn’t know anything about being lonely. It was just a concept. Something you might hear someone say, but had yet to experience. I wish it would’ve stayed that way.

Years later, I remembered Mrs. Abdu, and it was then that I understood how she must have felt. I found myself getting to a point in which being alone was something one just got used to. But being lonely, I don’t think we’re ever supposed to get used to that. And if you’ve never sat down and thought about the two differences, trust me, you’d rather be alone, than lonely.

CHAPTER 3

Okay class, Ms. Raines said. She’s my 3rd grade teacher. Everyone please takes their seats, open your math books to page twelve, and we’ll start with problem number one and go from there. Ted? Ted Donner? Didn’t you just hear me tell the whole class to please take their seats? I’m sure you did, so would you please leave Julie Sanchez alone and get to your seat. Thank you, Ted. Julie? I didn’t know that Ted was your new love interest. What happened to Steve Goldblat? Is it over between the two of you? And by the way, now that everyone is seated, I notice that we have an empty chair. Can anyone please tell me where Karo Serovian is? Steve, Karo’s your best friend, isn’t he? You don’t have to answer; we all know that he is. So, can you please tell me where he is?

I was listening to Ms. Raines’ questions being fired off to all my friends, while standing in the hallway by the back door.

You know, in those days, I thought that Ms. Raines was old, not as in over the hill ancient or anything like that. But she was a teacher, and to a kid, all teachers are old. But looking back now, I realize that she was actually very young to be doing what she did, and did it so well I might